What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?
by Destiny1195
Summary: Mike loves Ryan; but, now with the love of his life gone, what does he have left, aside from abject misery and drinking himself into a stupor every evening? Written as a pre-existing RyanxMike story. Set after the season three finale, this does contain very minor spoilers, so be warned. This is a one-shot, but I will extend it if people want me to


**I've been wanting to write one of these for some time, and I've only just gotten around to it. Bit of a shame really. I love the show, and I've rather enjoyed what work has been done with this pairing.**

 **Obviously, The Following is not my creation (damn shame that), and the same goes for the title inspiration, one can thank the talented Jimmy Ruffin for that.**

 **This is only intended as a one shot, but as with the rest of my stories, I'm not averse to extending them if I can think of a story line. Or if people want me too.**

 **Maybe I'll do a prequel story; not sure really, we'll see.**

 **Anyway, enough of my rambling, let's get down to it; hope you all enjoy**

Mike Weston sat alone in his spacious apartment, lost in thought, empty beer bottles littering his floor like the many fragments of his now shattered heart. He'd moved onto a bottle of bourbon half an hour ago. He'd already drunk half of it.

Jack Daniels, the cure for every single trouble he had these days. Why face his pain when he could drown it all out in a flood of alcohol.

His hero, the man he had looked up too, had fallen in love with, was dead.

His Ryan.

His intelligent, handsome, brilliant Ryan Hardy.

It had been two months, and still things remained as fresh and raw as they had been on the day itself.

Ryan and Theo fighting on the bridge, the headlong plunge into the waters below...and then nothing. No sign of either of them. Swallowed up as if they had never existed, and swept away with the current.

After days of frantic searching, the teams had been called off. Announcements were made; death certificates were filed, and the vast populous moved on with their lives.

Even Ryan's few remaining family members had moved on, some successfully, some simply ignoring the issue. Max had thrown herself further into work; the FBI had become her refuge.

As for Mike, well, he couldn't move on; could not move past the loss of the one he had given his heart to.

Whilst their relationship was not widely known, some closer members of the management team were aware, and had put Mike on an extended leave of absence almost immediately.

He shook his head slightly; a small part of him would have preferred to remain on active duty. That way, at the very least, his life might have been more than drinking till he passed out a few times per week.

Mike took a sip of bourbon as a fresh batch of tears sprang forth. They rolled down his face, one after the other, as fast and plentiful as the water that sealed his loves doom. Mike felt a painful twang in his heart, as his mind flashed back to the last night he'd spent with Ryan.

Ryan had cooked dinner, nothing fancy, just steaks with a bottle of wine, but it had been superb. They'd watched a film afterwards, some romantic comedy that neither had been very interested in. Slowly kissing each other had proved to be a far more enjoyable activity. They'd ended the night with a slow, passionate session of love making. He'd fallen asleep in Ryan's arms, curled into his chest, more content than he had been at any other point in his life.

His body began to shake, as the tears came faster, and an anguish filled cry erupted from deep in his chest. He'd never felt as alone in his life, as he had these past few months.

Mike got out of the armchair he'd collapsed in hours earlier, and stumbled over to his living room window. He lent on the glass, and looked out of the city.

Lights, activity, people milling around everywhere. It was a view he'd enjoyed on many occasions; now though, it did nothing but remind him of all he'd lost.

He flung his arm out to the side, and fumbled with his radio. Whilst it was highly unlikely, Mike hoped that some music may at least take his mind off of things. Something that, it turned out, he'd been very wrong about.

The radio clicked on to an older channel, something Ryan had set it to the last time he'd been around. The song that began playing, made Mike feel even worse.

 _As I walk this land of broken dreams_ _  
_ _I have visions of many things_ _  
_ _But happiness is just an illusion_ _  
_ _Filled with sadness and confusion_ __

 _What becomes of the broken hearted_ _  
_ _Who has love that's now departed_ _  
_ _I know I've got to find_ _  
_ _Some kind of peace of mind, baby_

The words struck a chord deep within Mike, and brought the pain and suffering forwards yet again, past the alcohol induced haze. He pressed his forehead against the window glass, as his body shook with emotional pain and loss.

 __

 _The roots of love grow all around_ _  
_ _But for me they come tumbling down_ _  
_ _Every day heartaches grow a little stronger_ _  
_ _I can't stand this pain much longer_ __

 _I walk in shadows searching for light_ _  
_ _Cold and alone, no comfort in sight_ _  
_ _Hopin' and praying for someone who'll care_ _  
_ _Always moving and going nowhere_

He clenched his free hand, and began banging it on the glass, letting out some of the pent up frustration that had developed.

He pushed away from the window, hurled his half full glass to the side. The sight and sound of it shattering against the wall making him feel vaguely better, if for a moment. His heartache did grow stronger, each and every day it got worse.

He turned the radio off, tired of a song that seemed to make him feel even worse. He swayed from side to side a few times, and began making his way towards his bedroom, stripping off his clothing as he went.

At least this time, Mike thought, passing out could be more comfortable. Beds were much nicer than the floor or a corner.

Mike collapsed onto his bed, and curled onto his side. He pulled a faded grey t-shirt towards him, and buried his face in it.

Ryan's t-shirt; it stilled smelled of him. Some combination of deodorant and a natural, manly sent. It brought a small amount of comfort to him; whilst it wasn't as good as having the man himself; little reminders like this had been the only thing to keep Mike going.

"Oh god, I miss you Ryan. I can't live without you" his voice was little more than a breathless croak.

Slowly, with Ryan's smell surrounding him, Mike drifted into a restless sleep.

XXXXXX

 _Mike jumped slightly, and turned his head towards the door, as it was pushed open. A man walked in, and shut the door behind him._

 _He hadn't expected him to be back yet, though a part of him was glad he was. Whilst Mike loved his job, there was only so much he could take in one go, and the older man had a way of relaxing him, as well as causing other feelings to surface. He'd had a crush on the man for some time now, ever since he read 'Poetry of a Killer'. The author's picture had done it for Mike. And now, working alongside him...part dream come true, part constant temptation._

" _Hey Mike, what're you up too?"_

 _Ryan Hardy leant against the hotel room's wall, just next to the door. His arms were loosely crossed over his lean chest. He was clad in a pair of dark jeans, a tight fitting t-shirt and a leather jacket. It was a casual look for one of such prestige, but it made Mike's mouth dry with desire._

 _He always looked so good dressed down like that._

 _The standard image of a bad suit and tie just did not fit the man. He was far too practical for it; and his rough charm wouldn't work dressed like that._

" _Oh, nothing really. Just going through some paper work. Fucking waste of time that it is. But" Mike sighed, looking defeated "It needs doing. Or the higher ups will eat me alive"_

 _Mike rubbed his face, and leant back in the chair. He rolled his neck, cracked it a few times, and yawned._

 _He heard a deep chuckle from the other side of the room, and looked back at Ryan. His eyes were sparkling, and his chest rose and fell slightly with the chuckle. He had a heart stopping smile on his face._

" _Tired kid?" Ryan pushed off the wall, and walked towards his travel bag; he bent down, and began to rummage around in it "I've got something in here somewhere..."_

 _Mike cocked his head to the side, appreciating the sight before him. Ryan Hardy bending over was always a good thing to look at. Tight, darkly coloured jeans were just made for a muscular backside like that._

 _He was brought out of his reverie by a loud exclamation from Ryan, as he stood back up, and turned around._

" _Here's the little bastard" He waved a bottle of vodka at Mike briefly "Fancy some?" There was a slight smirk on his face, and his eyes seemed to come alive with some inner excitement._

 _Mike frowned at him in response, and sighed._

" _Ryan...you shouldn't be drinking so much"_

 _He snorted in response, and began digging around in one of the cupboards. He pulled two lurid coloured mugs out, and perched on the desk by Mike, before filling each mug with a generous helping of vodka._

" _Fuck that man. We've been working hard, we deserve a little down time" Ryan slid one of the mugs towards Mike, and took a sip from his own, and winked at Mike "Besides, you're here to keep an eye on me"_

 _Mike scowled again, though with less force, before giving in, and picking up the mug. Really, how could you say 'no' to a sassy Ryan Hardy?_

" _Fine" he said with a small smile on his face "But just the one, okay?"_

 _Ryan spread his arms, in the universal sign of surrender, before chuckling that deep, gravely chuckle again._

" _Whatever you say Mike"_

XXXXXX

Mike awoke with a start, chest heaving, Ryan's t-shirt tangled between his arm and his head. He cast his eyes to the side long enough to check the time, before groaning. Something he later decided was a mistake.

Only 3:00am.

Far too early.

He'd drunk enough that the light from his clocks digital display was enough to send waves of pain pulsing through his skull. The slow, nauseating churning in his stomach did nothing to help the situation.

Mike let out a low sigh, before he slowly dragged himself out of bed, and towards the toilet. He knew from experience that he'd need to throw up. Drinking himself into this state often enough had taught him the warning signs.

He stumbled into his reasonably spacious bathroom, collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet, and hung his head in the bowl, mere seconds before the mostly liquid contents of his stomach came rushing up his gullet, and out of his body.

He stayed in that position for something near too ten minutes, before he slumped against the wall, head cracking off the hard surface with an audible thud.

He could feel his heart clenching and pounding, as a fresh batch of tears spilled from his eyes. He began to shake, as tear after tear rolled down his now flushed cheeks. He began to moan, a sound filled with loss and heartache.

He felt so alone, and utterly worthless.

That dream had brought it all back to him; it had been more of a memory than anything else though. How it had all started between Ryan and him.

It had started as a normal night, just the two of them in a hotel on a case. Ryan had convinced him to drink a little vodka. What had started as a simple drink between friends had ended in a very naked Mike pinned beneath a very naked Ryan. One drunken night of fun, and a confession of feelings in the morning. The rest was history.

And now...now he had nothing but memories and the feeling of loss to accompany him for the rest of his life.

Slumped against the bathroom wall, stark naked, head pounding and feeling sick from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, and not just that evening, he felt like shit, and wished his life would simply end.

He'd lost his family, he'd probably lose his job, and he'd lost Ryan; what did he have left?

 **Reviews are welcome; would be lovely to hear what you all think.**

 **I don't want to sound desperate, but I live for reviews these days, so please share your thoughts with me.**


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